


Snuff

by TweekTweak



Series: Waking Up Alive [3]
Category: South Park
Genre: Could take place after my fic Falling Asleep but can stand alone, M/M, Post-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22765462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TweekTweak/pseuds/TweekTweak
Summary: Over time, though, it changed. My bad habits became draining, and you got tired of picking me up whenever I fell.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak
Series: Waking Up Alive [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/497434
Kudos: 10





	Snuff

**Author's Note:**

> This could take place following my fics 'Waking up Alive' and 'Falling Asleep' if you squint, however it also works as a standalone piece if you haven't read those ones :)! I've added it to that series anyway. A rewrite of an MCR fanfic I wrote in 2012, based on the song Snuff by Slipknot.

Standing on my tiptoes, I retrieve the small wooden box from the top shelf of my wardrobe, before setting it down on my bed and opening it. The hinges creak rustily as I do, sighing a breath of relief at being opened after so many years.

Everything is still inside, just as I left it.

I pull out the pile of folded, dog eared letters. I wonder if you know I kept every one?

I flick through them, reading odd paragraphs, and smiling, laughing at your jokes and old memories.

Some are written in bright red ink, some in smudgy pencil. Some are written tidily, some scrawled so illegibly you could have been racing against the end of time to get the words out. Some are pages long, some barely a paragraph.

The signature at the bottom is always the same, though.

_Lots of love,_

_Tweek xxx_

I read those words countless times, burning them into the backs of my eyes and wishing they had really been true.

At the time they made so much sense. Now they just confuse me.

You helped me through everything, Tweek; when I could barely afford to feed myself, let alone pay the rent, you set me a bed on your sofa; when I lived off of whisky and cocaine you poured the liquor down the sink and flushed the drugs down the toilet (no matter how much I screamed and begged); and in the moments before I strung myself up by the neck, who talked me out of it?

Oh yes, it was you.

You were just asking for me to fall for you, Tweek. There’s no two ways about it.

Over time, though, it changed. My bad habits became draining, and you got tired of picking me up whenever I fell, and I fell a lot. Where once you waited to catch me, now was nothing but cold asphalt, and me hurtling towards it fast.

I reach the final letter.

_I’m sorry._

_Tweek._

The blue ink is smudged across the page - by my tears, or yours?

It was so long ago that I can’t remember.

I hold the letter to my lips, and I can almost feel the ghost of a kiss press against them. Wishful thinking, but I cherish it while it lasts.

I gently place the letters back in the box, close the lid, and return them to the wardrobe.


End file.
